


A Garden Of One's Own

by DirectionOfTime



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bramie, F/M, GoT, I haven't even watched any GOT just wanted in on the ship, Jamie lannister - Freeform, Jamie/Brienne - Freeform, Jamie/Brienne fluff and gardening, au as fuck, brienne of tarth - Freeform, here ya go, self indulgent AU AF, soft feels and growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirectionOfTime/pseuds/DirectionOfTime
Summary: Brienne, having fought many long, hard battles both within herself and with a sword in her hand, has finally left her life as a solider. Something she thought she'd never do. She might well return to that life someday, but there will always be more time for fighting and wars but there will be precious few days ahead where she can explore her own identity, without the threat of a dagger in her side nor looming politics overhead.With her own little house and a small garden, Brienne decides its time to start growing again - despite everything she'd had to say goodbye to - and what better place to do that in a house of one's own, in a garden of one's own? And, lucky her, she has a cute neighbour.Sort of military-AU (some minor modern elements, mostly Medieval-ish time frame). Fluff, minor angst, personal growth, romance, good feels, plants!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a 1000% self-indulgent AU because… fuck it. I wanted to write it and I’ve been rather short on good, absorbing fantasies recently! I’m thinking a cute 10-ish chapter novella for this, all about growing your own food, owning your own house (haha!) and having a cute neighbour. You know, the good stuff.
> 
> FYI: I haven’t watched any GOT and I’ve only read a handful of the books (I found a lot of the content far too stressful to consume directly — I’m sensitive, okay?) so if there is any characterisation here that is just… wildly wrong, my apologies (but also: this is fanfic and so required by law to do whatever the fuck I want: no haters please, if you don't like there are plenty more fics around to go and read instead!). I’m not really a fan of GOT but goddamn I didn’t take ANY convincing to climb aboard the Braime ship! Whew!
> 
> I guess this is a kind-of-Modern day AU?? Even I’m not sure >.> Sort of modern day-ish setting but I might keep in a handful of kinda-medieval elements (I mean, we don’t need all this having to work everyday in order to just be -alive-, fuck that noise, it takes up too much time that could be sent awkwardly flirting, so…) In some era, in some place with (kind of) these people. Good luck ^_ ^

**Prologue: A Necessary Pruning **

_Prune [verb]: to trim (a tree, shrub, or bush) by cutting away dead or overgrown branches or stems, especially to encourage growth._

Brienne stared up at her little house. The little wisteria covered stone cottage that was all her’s. She’d dreamed about owning her own house, just enough space for herself, in which she could wake up when she pleased, got to bed when she pleased and grow all the vegetables and flowers she could nudge into existence. _Heaven_. It had been a stroke of sheer, cosmic luck that she’d managed to find such a place — just on the outskirts of a sleepy small village, full of mostly elderly farmers, and surrounded on all sides by hills and fields and forest. She wasn’t all that far from her former base, but she’d found that she loved this part of the country, north and away from the biggest of the sprawling settlements; the rolling hills had a way of keeping out the ever encroaching towns.

Having spent the past twenty years bounced from pillar to post and country to country, she was desperately looking forwards to just being settled somewhere. She’d loved being in the military force but it was slowly strangling her, the constant change and movement and inability to control her own environment was draining the life out of her and she’d known for a while that it was time to move on. As scary as that thought was, she knew it was true. And as of a month ago, she’d been completely settled in; she’d familiarised herself with the town and most of its inhabitants. And had earn enough money off her last battles toExcept her neighbour, whom she’d seen hide nor hair of thus far.

She pulled the keys out of her pocket, carefully balancing the delicate seedlings in one hand and unlocked the front door, it was cool and dark against the bright spring day. She took the immediate left into her kitchen, which ran the depth of the little house; the previous owner had left the large table and bench seat which sat against the far wall and was not unlike a church pew. Its low arms and high back had it dominating the lower half of the room; what Brienne needed it for or why she was keeping it, she still hadn’t thought too much about. It wasn’t as if she intended to host dinner parties. Still, it fitted nicely with the aesthetic of the house, and so it stayed.

Most of the workspace was at the far end, where a second door joined to a small hallway (leading to the stairs or the sitting room) as well as a small utility room, in turn leading her to the backdoor. The house required discovery, it did not allow someone to simply peek in the door and see all there was to see; one had to explore, to muster the courage to enter and take the house as it was. To allow the hallways and hidden doors to lead them on their path of discovery, never quite sure what they might find. Something Brienne had been immediately attracted to, the house understood secrets and private things; it understood that to be home was to turn inward, to self-reflect, to lick one’s wounds and to be at peace.

The garden was modest, but enough space for her; a small low fence separated her’s from her neighbour's, their houses adjoined. What had evidently been an old farm house had, at some point, been separated into two small semi-detached cottages. Brienne had never been terribly fond of the idea, but she felt in no way crampt nor wanting for space. The outer perimeter was walled, currently overgrown with all manner of climbing plants — among them a few previously trained fruiting trees — but the rest of the garden was long, overgrown grass; it had been neglected for a long time.

“Welcome to your new home, little ones.” She whispered to her seedlings (a small mix of strawberries, radishes and tomatoes — potatoes, carrots and onions she’d already planted). “I hope you’ll be happy here.” She set them on her little table on her barely-two-meter square flagstone patio and fetched her make-shift watering can and a spade for the left over, turned earth. She’d spent so much of her life forced to cover up, both hide and expose her own nature — to establish herself in a male world. To defend her right to live, to hide as much of her femininity as she could, less the numerous unscrupulous men of the world try to take advantage. She was a fighter, but she was also a lover. For so long she’d fought against and trodden down the softness she knew resided within her, believing it was a mark of weakness. But after her travels with Ser Jamie, watching those small, haphazard moments where he revealed his own softness — sometimes toward her — she began to wonder how it could possibly be taken as weakness. How was it weak to protect others? How was it weak to help something, or someone, to grow? How was it weak to show compassion to something less able to defend itself? How was it weak to relish in what few honest delights life had to offer? These questions had been budding in her, for weeks, months. Gnawing on bone and sinew within, until at last the answers were uncovered and she realised that she might as well have been turned inside out: it wasn’t weak, but she _was_ afraid.

And thus began her realisation that she needed to do something else with her life; there would always be fighting, but there might not always be time for her truest self. She would have to _make_ time.

Planting was a visceral joy; the scent of the soil, the delicacy of the tiny green shoots and the feel of the rich dark earth between her fingers connected her to life in a manner she found hard to articulate. Brienne had always loved to be outside regardless of the weather or season, rejoicing in spring and admiring the autumn, to be outside felt natural, it felt _right_. She had always appreciated flowers and been impressed by enormous, ancient trees secure in their majesty andability to rejuvenate year after year, decade after decade. But it had been only recently she had given any thought to the idea of cultivating and growing a garden on her own; with little dabbles in repotting and pruning at her parents’ home as a small child, she found it satisfying in a way she had been utterly unprepared for.

To cut back the dead growth, prune off oversized branches and repot over-grown shrubs, caring for the sick and unhappy plants through the year only to be able to watch, as again spring returned, so did their vigour and lust for life: happy and full. Their proud green leaves and bright scented flowers sprung forth from seemingly nothing once more. To watch as delicate fronds grew and grew their produce, great oversized apples or cucumbers or pears weighing down the poor branches as the plants poured everything they had into their fruits had her caring for and loving the tiny plants as if they were pets or best-friends.

The seedlings lifted easily out of their gemination bags and and she upsized them, into three larger pots, packing down the earth carefully over the drainage and filling in the gaps around each’s tiny rootball. Finally, they were well watered in. The dug-in beds were half-way finished, though she still needed netting and stakes before anything would be ready for its final move. But her garden was taking shape: she’d marked out three square beds and had planned her complimentary planting to fend off the worst of the bugs and pests and the handful of pear, apple, and blackberry trees which grew haphazardly over the back wall still needed some pruning — though they grew vigorously and were healthy. All that was left was to figure out how to cook everything she planned on growing.

Despite Brienne’s background and regular proselytising to her juniors about the benefits of eating well and making healthy choices, Brienne was rather an abysmal cook. She knew some recipes (and indeed made healthy choices herself) but cooking was some type of witchcraft she had yet to uncover. _One step at a time_, she thought, “There you are! All watered in, and ready for some real growing to begin!” She chirped, setting the pots down on the edge of the flagstones, where they were sure to catch the best of the sunlight.

“Brienne?” A familiar voice drew her attention, “What are you doing here?”

“Jamie?” Brienne started at him for a few long seconds, trying to figure out if it was actually _him_ she was looking at.

“You moved in next door? I thought someone had taken over ownership but I hadn’t realised it was you.” He chuckled. He stood leaning over their shared fence, his hair barely combed hair catching in the slight breeze; he still had his beard and it still suited him. It had been a few months since she’d seen him and frankly, expected never to set eyes on him again.

“You… live next door? What?”

“I’ve owned this place for years. I thought you knew that?”

“No?”

He shrugged, “Well, now you do; though my visits have been few and far between given all the time I was called away and… with Cercei. I’m surprised you’ve settled here, I thought you were moving away?”

“I like it up here and found this house for a really good deal. Here was as good as anywhere.” She shrugged, resisting with all her might the blush that wanted to spread over her cheeks; her embarrassment that he might have heard her earlier rallied her defensiveness and she closed off. The idea that he might have heard her talking like an idiot to a bunch of plants? If he spoke about it to anyone, she’d have to kill him. Or maybe herself.

Jamie smiled, “Indeed. How is life? Now that you’ve left?”

“Good. Quiet. Needed some time to myself and…” She shrugged, feeling now quite awkward.

“Never took you for a gardener, what are you growing?”

“Vegetables.”

“A good choice. Though I seem to recall you not knowing one end of a carrot from the other. Before it had been cooked, at least.” Jamie jabbed, a playful smile on his face.

“_That_ was a long time ago.” Brienne shot back, folding her arms over her chest. This was safer territory, at arm’s length.

“I can give you some recipes, if you like. I don’t know how to grow them, but I can cook them.” He offered, “If you’d be prepared to give me any extras that you can’t eat.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad deal.” She conceded, “But I’ll have to see if any start producing, first. How are things with you? The new blood behaving themselves? Following orders correctly?”

Jamie shrugged, not taking his eyes off her, “Well enough, but they’re no match for a seasoned soldier; it’s a shame you left, they’d benefit from your wisdom.”

“I had to do what was right for me.” Brienne answered. Her voice more confident than she felt.

“I know.” Jamie replied, his voice low and sympathetic, but not patronising. He held her gaze for a few long seconds, “The village is a good place, the fighting feels very far away here. You made good choice, choosing to settle here, I’ve loved this house and area for a long time, though I have spent precious little time here in recent years.” His eyes wandered over her garden curiously. “Though with that last battle, I think I am overdue for spending some time at home. Now that this is the only place I have left, I feel better knowing that I have you as a neighbour.” He spoke jovially, the smile on his face honest and happy — he doubtlessly meant the comment merely of their long relationship as soldiers — though it felt odd to hear in the moment.

At least her neighbour was a good man. Even if he might well turn out to be trouble.


	2. Part One: In Leaf

Brienne had awoken early in the morning to the midsummer sunlight streaming in through the window and a delicious smell of something cooking. She laid there, in perfect comfort for a few peaceful moments before she shot up: what the hell was smelling? She darted out of bed, dragging a cloak over her shoulders before she hurried downstairs, to find Jamie in front of a large pot he was slowly stirring,

“Morning.” He grinned at her, “I like the hair.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Cooking, the tomatoes were ripe.”

“How did you get in?” She asked, with increasing impatience,

“The door was unlocked.” He pointed towards it. It wasn’t, she’d double checked it last night. “Would you like some coffee? I set it to brew almost an hour ago, I thought you’d be up earlier.” He grinned; he looked fresh and well — as though he’d been up for several hours already — his words teasing but not unkind. Brienne hesitated, finding the words unforthcoming. Since when was she this uncertain around him? She always felt able to be herself around him, he’d been difficult in the past, even downright insufferable, but she hadn’t felt _uncomfortable_. Yet now, even as he’d decided to let himself into her home at hell-knows-what time in the morning, cheerful and friendly, she felt as if she had some gag tied around her throat. Constricting and choking her at the thought of speaking exactly as she pleased, as she might well have done as little as a year ago. It was a strange sensation, to hear the words in her head, but then somehow getting lodged in her throat.

“I’m going to get dressed.” Was what eventually came out and she turned on her heel and hurried back up the stairs. Since she’d moved in, a little under three months prior, she’d seen him almost every day; sometimes it was little more than a brief chat over their shared fence. Other times they sat together and drank, chatting long into the night about times past and things of the world yet to be seen. When they stuck to informal conversation — about growing or cooking — things were easy, laugher oft accompanied and knew their names well. But the more time Jamie spent around her, the more he bled into her thoughts at odd hours; the more she thought to make accommodations for him, the more she had begun to picture what those later meetings might play out like… and hence her agitation had grown. Never did things play out the same as in her head; always he said something different, their reason for meeting changed or he would be away unexpectedly.

It seemed that at every turn, Jamie effortlessly thwarted her best laid plans, and so in turn, her. Brienne did not like to be wrong; she did not like to appear ill-versed, ill-equipped. She did not like to appear vulnerable. Before, being vulnerable meant certain death or bodily harm. Now it meant the possibility of losing a friend, of being rejected, of opening up only to face hurt and ridicule. Or worse, of being loved; of being seen wholly and openly, with all faults and flaws bared to the other with nothing left but to pray that they would not be seen as repulsive. And certainly the latter was scarier.

Hurriedly dressed — and having thoroughly combed her hair, realising, in passing that her hair had grown a little — she walked slowly back downstairs. She found herself taking a few long, slow breaths as she went, _it’s just Jaime, I’ve known him for years!_ She stepped out from around the corner for find Jamie’s attention fully on the pot in front of him, lifting a spoonful to his mouth. He took a few test sips, trying to gauge if it was too hot, before he took the whole spoonful and promptly gasping in pain. He struggled to swallow the mouthful down, almost hopping from foot to foot at the pain.

Brienne couldn’t help the snort of laughter the escaped her at his foolishness, “Its been bubbling for hours, why would it be cool enough to eat?” She said, walking over to retrieve a cup and filled it with cold water.

He accepted it gratefully, immediately guzzling half of it, “I blew on it a few times.” He croaked, swallowing awkwardly once again, “It’s delicious, at least.”

“What _is_ it?”

“A sauce, which can be used as a base for all sorts of things. Flavouring for something grilled, for stews, even soup, in a pinch.”

“And you felt the need to break into my house at the crack of dawn to make it because..?”

“I didn’t _break in_ the door was open.” Jamie lied,

“I double checked it last night.”

“…”

Brienne’s eyebrows flopped into a threateningly straight line low over her eyes. Jamie held her gaze for a few seconds before turning back to his witch’s brew and dunked the spoon back in; he brought it up to his mouth to blow gently on it for a few seconds before offering it to her. His lips thin, but pink, so usually hidden they were between his rarely groomed beard.

“Try some, I promise it’s good.”

Brienne didn’t doubt it, she’d tasted Jaime’s cooking many times out in the field and it had always been something delightfully flavoursome, even with whatever precious few herbs he could scrounge out in the middle of nowhere. Brienne hesitantly took the spoon he offered out to her, blowing on it several times herself, tentatively tasting it. Delicious didn’t quite cut it, it was mildly spicy, in just the right way to tickle the palate, whilst still allowing room for the other flavours to bloom and play their part. She could easily eat the whole pot. Jaime smiled, easily able to read her, “Delicious, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“I wrote down the recipe, this time, you can keep it.” He took the spoon back off her and turned to the hastily scrawled note, smudge with afew drops of the sauce itself, “It’s not complicated, it just takes a while and things need to be added at the right time.”

“No, that doesn’t sound complicated at all.” She deadpanned.

Jamie rolled his eyes, “I promise its easy. Just follow the instructions. Oh, here, I poured you some coffee.” He gestured the mug at the near end of the table, “Would you like anything for breakfast?”

“I’m fine, thank you. You still haven’t answered why you came to my house to cook.” Brienne pushed again, sipping at her coffee. Jaime turned back to the pot and set it aside to begin cooling,

“I… I really don’t like cooking alone, or just for myself, it feels… wasteful. I’m sorry, I’ll leave you be.” Jaime answered at length, apparently finding the side intensely interesting.

“No, it’s fine. Stay. The sauce is wonderful, thank you.” Brienne answered in a hurry, “You might as well help me water and check for pests.”

“Okay.”

Jamie happily adopted watering duty, listening carefully as she told him to water “like a raincloud, a few seconds on each plant before moving on” whilst Brienne busied herself with inspecting the rapidly growing shoots. Most were now several inches high or more, the tomato plants reaching almost a foot, their delicate stems still laden with not-quite ripe tomatoes. She pruned off the small nubs which grew at the crux of each stem — they took energy away from the fruit — and wiped off any pests she happened to come across. She harvested her first crop of carrots and potatoes, leaving behind some and replanting what she could.

They worked in relative silence for who knows how long, his presence a warm addition rather than a distracting intrusion. At last Brienne rose to her feet, a basket of veggies in one hand, a clump of weeds in the other, smiling down at her steadily growing crops. They all looked so bright and green and full of life. She looked up to find Jamie staring at her, a clump of weeds in his own hands. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but someone else got there first.

“Ser Jamie!” A loud voice called, pulling his attention from Brienne, “Ser Jamie?”

“I’m here, what is it?” Jamie walked over to the shared fence to find a junior soldier at the rear gate of his garden.

“You are requested by the Commanding Officer, he wishes to see you immediately.”

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I am able.” He answered back, the young solider nodding and turning away, disappearing around behind the high wall. “Sorry, duty calls.” He handed her the pulled weeds and walked back onto his own property, offering a final glance back at her, “Hopefully I won’t be away too long.” He smiled and was gone.

It turned out he would be gone for almost two months — or so he’d estimated in his brief return to pack for his mission. He’d said goodbye again, his gaze lingering on her for a few long moments, as if his eyes had gotten stuck. They were frozen in time, staring at each other, neither knowing what to say or how to act, other than to just be in the moment. He was gone and Brienne found herself surprised by just how much she missed him. In the small ways, she ran out of recipes far too quickly, what ones she did try, she somehow always ended up making too much and her house always smelt of nothing. She’d even taken to polishing her old swords and armour that currently graced her walls, for want of anything more productive in the evenings.

Still, the summer sun shone brightly and her plants grew with a flourish, she relished watching her radishes ripen, and the way the lettuces waved whatever odd breeze was deeply gratifying.

* * *

“Morning, Sansa.” Brienne greeted to the young woman, she was the daughter of one of the largest farmers in the county; she often acted a fool but was shrewd and insightful. Brienne often got them impression she was merely awaiting the right time for her to strike out on her own. At present, she, along with some help from two of her siblings, ran the farm shop, providing substantial produce for most of the town.

“Morning. Eggs?”

“Please, a dozen, and some flour, sugar and coffee.”

“Run out already?” Sansa asked, not entirely unkindly, but there was certainly some undercurrent to her tone, as she fetched the items from behind her counter.

“Just cooking a lot. Do you sell any spices?”

“We offer a curry-power my mother makes, but that’s about it, unless you’re after actual plants?”

“What kinds do you have?”

“Juniper bushes, garlic, horseradish, ginger and fennel.”

“I’ll take one of each, if possible.” Brienne answered, earning a strange look from Sansa,

“Um, you sure? They’re pretty expensive. And hard to grow, do you know what you’re doing with them?”

“How much will it be?”

“Well, they’re all around ten pieces each.” Sansa replied, _expensive indeed, _but they would return dividends — Brienne was almost at her minimal requirements for buying food, anyway.

“Hard to grow how?”

“They’re very fussy, about soil, water, and shade. We’ve had many die on us.”

“They’re all native species, aren’t they? Or at least, grow at similar latitudes.”

“Yeah, but some plants are like that.” Sansa shrugged, “You can buy them if you want, though.”

“I will. I’ve had some experience growing things.”

“Oh?” Sansa queried as she packed up the produce into a bag and lifted an empty crate onto the counter, though Brienne felt no compulsion to elaborate, she picked up her effects,

“Where will I find the plants?”

“Just outside the door.” Sansa replied and walked her out, “There’s only one juniper left, but you have some choice with the others.” Her attention drawn by a woman in a strikingly deep red dress walking past, "Oh my god."

"What?" Brienne queried, catching only the back of the woman as she passed around a corner.

"You don't know her? That's Lady Cersei, she hasn't been here in almost forever... she must be looking for Ser Jamie." Sansa answered, her voice low and measured, a disapproving look on her face. "But he's away, right? Wouldn't she know that?" Sansa asked rhetorically. Brienne though of about ten questions to ask in return, but immediately thought better of it; her's and Jamie's friendship felt like a precious secret, something not for public consumption and it would be nothing less than a betrayal to so much as open the door to outside interest.

Brienne turned to the plants and took a few moments to inspect them, most were fairly small, but all in good condition, save for the ginger and horseradish, two of which looked rather sad. There was no sign of pests nor fungal infection, so it seemed likely that they’d merely been overwatered and were becoming pot-bound. She took them both. With her plants loaded and her groceries awkwardly balanced under the crook of one arm — and Sansa paid — she took off back down the street in the direction of her home. Sansa probably thought she was nuts, buying so many plants and the fruits of which she would hardly need to eat for every meal every day. But the little plants she’d taken in under her wing, giving them permanent residence, freeing them from those awful, confining pots and allowing them to flourish was its own reward in plenty of ways.

In giving something — or indeed, someone — space to flourish did not mean simply allowing them to hog-wild, it was to temper them, help them play to their strengths and structure their growth and development. Occasional pruning was a necessity, strategic planting was imperative. Some plants, like mint, were voracious and incredibly strong-willed, it was prone to taking over everything and if another plant was in its way, it would strangle it. So for its own good and the good of other garden-dwellers, it was kept in a pot. Due to its desire to spread as far as it was able, it understood its own limits and regardless of the size of the pot, mint would flourish in it, never trying to outgrow its confines. Many plants could be accused to have narrow vision, they would grow and grow, without heed for the conditions until they strangled themselves, especially if they were left in pots too small.

Brienne rather suspected that she was of the former sort, so long as she had air to breath and food to eat, she would continue feel the edges of her confines and assume that was all she would ever have. At least, that was her instinct and she had long known that the time had come to repot herself — she would eventually have to fight her fears and take the leap to move on. Here she was, now, having done that, and as much as she was still trying to truly settle in, she knew it would come. Here she was, freer: free to make her own decisions, free to grow and free to flourish. And hell be damned if she didn’t at least try to make the best of it.

As Brienne approached her home, she found the same woman stood at Jamie’s door, just as Sansa had assumed, her blonde hair was long and well groomed and startling in the direct sunlight.

“He’s not in.” Brienne called out, “He was called away by the guard.”

“For how long?” The woman briskly queried, looking Brienne over carefully; she was all things that Brienne was not: slender, good looking, sure of herself, and, quite clearly, rich.

“A while, I can pass a message on, if you like?”

“Tell him Cersei is looking for him. He has some documentation to sign. I will be back.”

“O-okay.” Brienne nodded as Cersei left her with one long look before she turned and swept away; she watched her until she was out of sight. Jamie had never spoken at length about his past, whether he was married, or a father, or, even, what he had been before he’d entered the military. But clearly, a past there was and no one could outrun it forever. Whatever Cersei wanted, or, in fact, represented, it would await Jamie’s return.

Brienne only hoped that it would not be a world of trouble for him.


End file.
